The mission
by Adlanth
Summary: Aragorn's love causes some concern. Elrond assigns a mission to Legolas. It goes wrong. SLASH. Now complete.
1. Elrond

None of these chaps are mine. Pity.**  
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**W**arning: slash.**  
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**Chapter 1**

When Aragorn left Elrond sat long in thought. He thought and he listened; he listened to the music and to the strands of fate woven into the melodies, a faint harmony of tiny plucked strings. He listened and thought of the strings he might pull to steer fate where he willed. He thought and thought and beside him the fire died down to embers and the embers grew cold. He sat in darkness and did not heed the cold of night for the coldness of his own heart.

Did it go wrong because his fingers were clumsy, because he was chilled to the core ? Was he so blinded by despair ? Still – when Legolas, son of Thranduil, came to Imladris he knew exactly how he would act. He watched as one evening in autumn the princeling rode into the valley; he welcomed him into his home. While Legolas washed himself and changed from his riding clothes into a cleaner, more formal outfit, he read Thranduil's letter. At dinner Legolas sat not far from him and he observed covertly the prince's easy grace, the way his thick, dark blonde hair fell about his strong shoulders; his handsome features and the way his sudden smile brightened his face like the light of the sun upon newly sprung leaves. In his mind he set gold against jet, this cheerfulness that wisdom tempered against another's stern, grim will and thought – yes, this will do.

He invited him to his apartments that very night. They sat together before a fire as the night deepened, listening absent-mindedly to the music and song that rose faintly from the Hall of Fire, and drank wine that Legolas had brought from the cellars of Mirkwood – Dorwinion wine, fragrant and heady, a particularly good year. 'One of the last bottles,' Legolas had said, and the sweetness of those last drops had been almost unbearable. They talked long into the night, for for all his resolve Elrond did not dare speak quite as directly as he would; and so they spoke of war, of growing darkness in Mirkwood and the shadow in the South; of Erebor and Esgaroth...And about them silence fell slowly but for the sound of the Bruinen in the distance, the murmur of the wind, and sometimes a bird's solitary cry; and the nightly air was warm and mellow like miruvor. Elrond watched the play of firelight upon Legolas' face: how it made his fair cheeks glow, and how the shifting shadows sometimes seemed to turn his reserve into self-consciousness; yes, how he seemed almost nervous. He wondered if Legolas had guessed at why he had invited him that night and gently steered their discussion where he willed. They spoke of spiders in the depths of Mirkwood, and from there they came to the growing numbers of Orcs in the Misty Mountains; and they spoke of Eriador, and the never-ceasing fight of the Dunedain.

'Aragorn was here a few days ago,' Elrond remarked – casually, leaning back, his face in darkness and his keen eyes trained upon Legolas's face. 'He thought you would be here, and was rather disappointed not to find you.' A pause. 'I believe he is very fond of you.'

Was that a dim, sudden flush blooming upon Legolas' cheeks ? Elrond watched his face as he once watched the eastern sky in Mordor.

'And I love him dearly,' the princeling answered guardedly, his eyes lowered.

Legolas did not elaborate. Silence fell. Elrond waited; Legolas remained silent, watching the fire; although once, perhaps – such a fleeting sight that Elrond had caught out of the corner of his eye – he raised his eyes towards Elrond, and in their light he thought he caught a glimpse of a strange and poignant longing that was swiftly smothered. But still he did not speak.

'He is very lonely,' Elrond said at last, carefully, awkwardly. Legolas looked at him without speaking. 'But if you were to assuage that loneliness, I would not be adverse to it,'

Now doubtlessly Legolas was blushing; a red glow swiftly flooded, but then receded just as suddenly, leaving deathly pallor behind, and Elrond wondered if perhaps he had overstepped his mark. Legolas sat very still before him, his face a mask, his grey-blue eyes unreadable.

'And in what way would you have me assuage this loneliness ?'

Elrond braced himself. How thin the ice he trod. Legolas kept staring at him, unblinking, needing, perhaps, to hear this from his own lips.

'In every possible way.'


	2. Aragorn

**Chapter 2**

Aragorn was about to leave Imladris, out into the grey wilderness and a cold autumn evening, when Legolas came to him. The peaks of the Hithaeglir were still glowing above, white, purple and gold into the clear blue sky, but in the valley it was dark already, and Legolas stepped from the shadows without a sound, his soft shoes light upon the ground, his green and brown travelling clothes melting out of the colourless evening. Aragorn was somewhat surprised when Legolas so suddenly proposed to go with him, but the elf was a fine companion, and he was too pleased to refuse. The matter was settled in an moment.

They set out into the wild, walking side by side as they had once or twice before, though never alone. They shared their meals and they slept back to back. Aragorn did relish the presence of the elf, the greater safety it offered, his pragmatic mind and his steadfastness. And yet – although Aragorn did not know Legolas very well – it seemed to him that the elf was less easily cheerful than was his wont, and more thoughtful. Often, too, he perceived that his elven eyes were on him, keen and pensive; and yet when he turned to meet his gaze he found him to be distant, impassive, and staring, as it seemed, at some far-away point beyond him.

Together they passed the autumn in solitary wanderings, crossing but twice or thrice the path of other such travellers – Dùnedain like himself, or Mithrandir – who walked in Eriador. Then, on some errand, it was decided that they must pass the Hithaeglir and go into Lothlorien, and thence into the eastern wilderness. So they went East, to meet with winter.

The road that went over the mountains was harsh and biting cold. When they settled down to camp they sat close together beneath one blanket to share warmth. The snow fell fast upon them, mesmerizing, blurring time and their journeys into uniform, blank whiteness; save that one moment, that remained icicle-sharp in Aragorn's memory – when Legolas, without warning, turned his head and set his lips firmly upon his.

For a moment or two he was too astonished to respond in any way. His lips parted, but not by his own volition. Legolas's cool hand found its way to the nape of his neck and held it firmly, slender fingers snaking into his hair, pressing him close so that the elf could kiss him more deeply.

Then he recoiled, pushing back against the grip that held him there. 'No,' he murmured, and then louder, 'no,' for Legolas would not let go. 'It is another -' but his words were smothered as Legolas silently kissed him again, slender, steely arms catching him in an embrace, and then withdrew to caress the side of his head, gripping him hard by the hair, whispering 'Forget her,' even as Aragorn said again, 'It is another whom I love.' But still Legolas kissed him, more softly now and with an air of despair, murmuring 'Forget her, forget her' between each kiss.

But it was already over. Aragorn pushed him away, and he did not try any more. Aragorn looked away for some minutes of uncomfortable silence. When he turned back to gaze at Legolas the elf was staring intently at some distant point, his pale, fair face as unreadable as the snow. They did not mention the incident for the rest of their journey.

Then they came to Lothlorien, where Galadriel welcomed them well, giving them shelter and good food. He was weary, and slept almost as soon as they were given a place to rest. When he woke he saw that white, princely clothes were lying at the foot of his bed, and he donned them. Yet Legolas was not here any more. He went looking for him, hesitantly.

He found him near the border of Lothlorien, ready to leave again. Yet upon seeing him Legolas smiled faintly, and for a while they walked together in silence upon the green grass of Lorien. Then Aragorn asked, a little abruptly perhaps but not unkindly, 'do you love me then ?' Legolas did not answer at once, and they walked a little further. 'That, I think,' he eventually answered, 'is for you to decide,' and he gave to Aragorn a strange sort of smile, half-amused and a little sorrowful.

Aragorn gazed into his eyes, and they went back to the border, each lost in thought. As Legolas truly prepared to leave, he said: 'I do not think that you do love me. Yet I think you love, and cannot know whom it is you love, and why you did what you did.' Again Legolas smiled his sad, amused smile (amused at Aragorn's blindness, or at his very own foolishness in love ?) and left, and disappeared between the silver trees of Lothlorien. Aragorn was left to wonder.

But then he went to Cerin Amroth, and as he neared the foot of the hill he saw that a maiden was sitting with her back to him upon the green, bright, fragrant grass, and that in the flower-soft wind her dark hair was blown about her head and caressed her white shoulders, and as he stepped into the light and towards her, all thoughts of Legolas were forgotten.


	3. Legolas

**Chapter 3**

Legolas did not go back to Imladris at once. He strayed north, travelling towards his own home; changed his mind, went back south, wandered into the mountains, trying to find an easy pass, came into Eriador, made his winding way to the hidden valley. He reached it one day at dusk, the fairest hour of fair Imladris, and asked to see Elrond. But the elf to whom he spoke gave him a long look, and answered that Master Elrond had not been among his people much these days, ever since a messenger had come from Lothlorien, and that he seemed to have spent these last days either alone in the wilderness about Imladris, or secluded in his own apartments.

But Legolas was lucky enough. He caught the lord of Imladris that same evening, spying him from a high window as the half-elf strode across a courtyard, coming home from some wild place. Legolas went downstairs and met him, as if by chance, even as Elrond made his way through a dark hallway towards his apartments. He looked lean and dangerous in practical, weather stained clothes, high boots and loose trousers, a tunic of heavy dark green cloth that only accentuated his pallor, his dark hair tied away from his face, hiding neither the stark beauty of his face nor his faintly haggard air. Legolas thought he could see him flinch for the barest moment upon seeing him.

'I did not think to see you again,' he said, with a harsh, rueful smile. Anger and grief seemed to war across his handsome face; then he turned away. Legolas followed him as he walked swiftly through a maze of corridors and arches, and slender bridges over rushing water.

They came into Elrond's apartments. Legolas glanced once more in wonder at the sparse, austere even, furniture, at the few ancient things lying about - things of simple beauty crafted in ages long gone, things of unspeakable value -, at the wealth of books lining up the shelves. They paused for a moment in the doorway, standing a little too close, not exactly lord and prince any more, formality between them giving way to more abrupt, dangerous familiarity. Elrond gestured at a silver and glass decanter standing upon a small, low table before a fire place. 'Help yourself,' he said, and turned to the hearth where a little firewood was already in place, kneeling beside it to light a fire.

Legolas poured two glasses of wine and sat down in an armchair beside the fireplace, observing Elrond, who stood with his back to him, a tall, lean silhouette, a dark shade gilded by the flickering light of young, fierce flames. He watched as the half-elf unbuckled the long knife that hung by his side, slowly, abstractedly, as in the now warmer room he undid the lacings on his outer tunic to leave it open on a simple white shirt; he watched him as he stilled and stood beside the fire, the knuckles of his tense right hand poised against the mantelpiece, gazed at the long lines of his slender, upright form, at his face, lit from below, an abstract map of shadow and light, undecipherable.

They waited in silence, or near silence. Legolas listened to the sound of night. Lonely birds singing. Insects. The murmur of water. A hound howling to himself, down by the stables. The sound of Elrond's breathing, something not quite heard but felt, deep in his bones, and preciously kept.

'I hope you do not come bearing news of my daughter's betrothal,' he said, and turned about, leaning on the mantelpiece, his head slightly thrown back, his eyes filled with a keen, dangerous light, a still, joyless smile upon his lips. 'I have already heard of it.'

But even through the amused, insulting lilt, Legolas thought he could see pain flash across that beautiful face, a sudden shadow veiling the sun, an abyss of sorrow briefly revealed. He could hide nothing, Legolas thought, lacking the deep stillness of the Elves, there was too much in him of the quick passions of Men, and something more terrible beside, an incandescence from before the world; he was not only for the silent stars above, but but also for the trees writhing in the tempest below. You will lose your daughter, he thought, and are as powerless now as when you were a child and your mother cast herself into the sea and left you behind, as on the day your brother died...

Legolas shook his head.

'I thought you would come at once, or not at all,' Elrond went on. 'Were you nursing your heart-break at home, princeling ?'

Legolas flinched this time. Elrond's face was locked again, taunting and mirthless, but Legolas could not help but see his long, nervous fingers, clenching and unclenching in the fine, thick fabric of his opened tunic, or the tightness about his eyes. There was something bruised and damaged about his face, beneath the anger. His eyes, staring into Legolas's, were unbearably keen – and then, suddenly, uncertainty came into his face like a crack.

'Do you not love him ?'

Legolas felt himself shake his head.

'No.'

A pause. Legolas sat somewhere, outside his body.

'Surely you are jesting,' Elrond said, his voice toneless.

Legolas shook his head.

'Why ?' Elrond asked.

Enough, Legolas thought, enough. The air between them was as taut as a bowstring. They had spoken too little or too much and he only wanted to leave, to lose himself, to tire his elven strength until memory itself gave way...back to Mirkwood, dark, tangled Mirkwood where a stream could give you forgetful slumber...He had risen and made for the door; Elrond would not let him go. They stood very close.

'Why ?' Elrond asked. 'It was dishonourable. I was -' His voice fell from anger to grief. Legolas could feel his breath upon his cheeks.

'I would have spared you this pain,' he heard himself say, 'done anything. Renounced you.'

Elrond did not answer, made a sound in his throat. They did not move. Legolas raised his eyes, saw his face, which looked like something shattered and raw, eyes shut.

He leant forward and pressed his lips to Elrond's. He thought he could hear their hearts beating, beating.

'Foolish -' Elrond said tenderly, 'foolish', brokenly. His fingertips, warm and callused, brushed Legolas's cheek. A kiss silenced him.

Then Legolas kissed the side of his neck, just below his jaw.

'I went on your mission. I demand payment.'

Breathing out, almost a sigh. They embraced fiercely in the dark. Some time, later, they fell together entwined and trembling.


	4. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

In the morning light, he looks young as only the children of Men can look, for a brief while; and even in his sleep he is sorrowful, and beautiful as only Elves, touched by long sorrow, can ever be. He is as kind as summer again, a late summer, falling into autumn. Legolas gently brushes his dark, tangled hair from his face and thinks he must leave now, a sad, misguided creature, who could not steer fate, only gave, and took, a night's pleasure. He sits still in the faint and fair light of dawn, aching with unassuaged love, his skin cool now which hours ago caresses burnt. And he must leave now, ere Elrond awakes.

Elrond, not quite asleep, not quite awake, reaches out and takes his hand.

Eventually, he opens his eyes, warm fingers clasped in his like a lifeline, looks up and for a brief moment, though the shadow of his grief is still upon him, he mistakes Legolas for the sun.


End file.
